The Other Minister
by Mr. Cobrah Thunderer
Summary: The Rise And Fall of Cornelius Oswald Fudge, or as John Major refers to him, The OTHER Minister. On Hiatus.
1. Prologue: In The Beginning

**I, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Respectfully Dedicate This Autobiography Sixteen Ways:**

To Robert, for inspiring my love of playacting and overall lust for life. I wish at times I had followed your path rather than emulate it.

To Oswald, for inspiring my desire to change the world. You deserved so much more credit than you were given.

To Timothy, for inspiring me to become a politician. I wish we had spent more time together.

To Sydney, for inspiring my desire to read. I do hope you like it.

To Horace, for proving to me that not ALL Slytherins are bad and setting up the necessay connections. Expect some crystallized pineapple coming your way real soon.

To Millicent, for believing in me. If anyone deserves a good retirement, it's you.

To Toggy, you've always been there for me and my family through everything. Thanks for helping me write this, it's like having my Mother around.

To Amelia, sweet Amelia, for standing by me when no one else would. You fought so bravely.

To Percy, you were the best assistant I've ever had, no wonder Crouch liked you. Please don't make the same mistakes I did when you make the dream I once had come true.

To Kingsley, for saving my life. I know you'll do a better job than I ever could.

To Albus, I should have listened to you. You just wanted to help.

To Harry, I know this is inappropriate and you don't owe me anything, but know that I am filled with deep remorse for the horrible way I treated you. It's unfair to expect your forgiveness, I don't deserve any.

To The Muggle Prime Minister circa 1990-1997, I am so grateful you didn't throw me through the window like your predecessor.

To Zackary, while we'll never be best of friends I'll always owe you one for saving my skin at The Canadian World Cup.

To Julian, for giving me some of the best advice I've ever heard in my life. I really should have tipped you more.

And finally, to My Star, I miss you every single day and I tip my hat to.

Consequently, if Dolores and Lucius are somehow reading this, then I have nothing to give them but two of my fingers raised simultaneously. Trusting you two snakes are easily two of my biggest mistakes.


	2. Chapter 1: Actor, Librarian, Politician

**Chapter 1: The Actor, The Librarian, and The Politicians**

I imagine that perhaps some of you out there might be wondering exactly why I chose now of all times to pen my memoirs. Well, the answer is simple: I REALLY don't want that Rita Skeeter to do it. Or, if she does so after my passing, at least I can die happy with the knowledge that at least she can't claim to have written the definitive version of my life story. Ah well, sales will tell.

As you might have gleaned as much from a quick glance at the cover, my name is Cornelius Oswald Fudge. I do hope you enjoy my book, these days nothing makes me happier than telling a good story, and all of the profits go to Saint Mungo's Hospital for Maladies and Injuries if you do. Being more than eighty years old and having bumped elbows with my fair share of famous names over the years has its fair share of perks, you know.

My dear old Grandpa Robert on my mother's side, bless his soul, always stressed the importance of a narrator to me. Especially after reading me a particularly enjoyable book in order to try and coax me to sleep as a boy (it rarely ever worked). A semi-retired character actor, Grandpa Robert loved nothing more to do the individual voices of the characters, the cackling crone Babbitty Rabbitty one minute and the meek yet noble Sir Luckless the next.

"My dear Cornelius," he'd say in his best "Speech Voice," "A story is nothing unless it has proper narration. Most books are simply a series of interconnected events transcribed onto parchment and bound by a cover, but a truly gripping tale sets your very soul on fire thanks to a good author's voice shining through.

You MUST get your audience to support, sympathize, empathize, or at least become invested in the outcome of your main character, otherwise what is the point? For that is TRUE magic, that no wand could ever hope to recreate!

No matter who you are, Pure-Blood, Half-Blood, Muggle-Born, or what the heck, even a MUGGLE, we are ALL equal under the pen! Remember that, my dear Cornelius, and you will go far in life!"

It was at this point my Mother (Sydney) usually escorted Grandpa Robert out of my room while asking him if he was taking his medication. Grandpa typically responded "YES!" or "Of course, my dear child!" with as much vigor as possible, giving her a jovial kiss on the cheek before "exiting stage right." Mother's reaction to this was usually to shake her head and mutter something derogatory about elderly wizards with too much energy.

It is memories like this why I consider The Tales of Beedle The Bard to be my favourite book of all time, because the memory of my dear Grandpa at his giddiest is enough to absentmindedly release my Patronus (A jeweled Fire Crab, which is ironic considering his infamous injury after sitting on one by accident).

While my mother wasn't quite as enthusiastic (or loud) about the art of storytelling as my grandpa, she did often stress the importance of reading, as evidenced by the pile of books I received every birthday and Christmas despite my repeated and progressively impatient requests for a racing broom instead (specifically a Cleansweep 2, "The New and Improved Broom of The '30's!").

Sadly I never admitted it to her while she was alive out of old feelings of childish disappointment (I believe my rebuttal went along the lines of "Why should I read about flying when I could ACTUALLY BE FLYING ON A CLEANSWEEP 2, MUM?!"), rest assured I am fond of all the books on my shelf. I suspect she knew about my secret enjoyment of her gifts and that is why she continued to push them upon me despite my increasingly desperate protests. Some of my favorites include but are not limited to:

 _The Invisible Book of Invisibility_ by Aziz Bhullar (A real page-turner if one can find it to begin with)

An original edition of _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_ by Newt Scamander (the description and of what EXACTLY a Lethifold is gave me nightmares for months as a child)

Another original edition of _Quidditch Through The Ages_ by Kennilworthy Whisp (Go Appleby Arrows!)

 _George and The Marvelous Medicine, Mary Poppins, The Lord of The Rings_ series and _Chronicles of Narnia_ series by Roald Dahl, P.L. Travers, J.R.R Tolkien and C.S. Lewis respectively (Amusing depictions of Magic by Muggle authors)

 _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_ by an Anonymous Sufferer of Lycanthropy (A recent acquisition that made me reach for tissues more than once and feel a pang of regret any feelings of prejudice I had against werewolves I had before)

Another thing that was stressed upon me vigorously as a child was the value of one's legacy, which as far as my Father (Timothy) was concerned, meant EVERYTHING to a man. His own Father (Oswald, where I get my middle name) was a former Head of The Department of Magical Transportation who lost everything after it was revealed that he had an affair with his assistant. Even worse, he had used his Ministry influence to cover it up, even going as far to try to pin it on someone else to take the heat off him.

All those years of faithful service to the Ministry he adored with all his heart, rendered non-void and the once respected name of Fudge considered a cheap punchline. The formal hearing he was forced to attend is what he regards as the worst day of his life, including the divorce from Grandmother Willow.

Seeing all of his former colleagues treat him as some sort of criminal and gazing down with the utmost of loathing at him destroyed the man Grandpa Oswald used to be entirely. He described The Wizengamot Court as claustrophobic despite its size, and if he was to compare what it was like to sit in that chair fearfully meeting eyes with the Chief Warlock to anything, it would be like being lowered down a well to be executed via drowning.

My Father was on his best days was cordial with my Grandpa Oswald and on his worst days indifferent, partly because of his own loyalty to the job inherited from his own father and partly because he was still resentful at him for breaking my poor Grandmother Willow's heart. As a result, we did not visit very often, and I was not quite as close with Grandpa Oswald as I was with Grandpa Robert.

As a child I never understood why he always appeared so forlorn and regretful. Now considering everything I've done in the name of The Ministry, I suddenly see so much of him in myself. The series of mistakes which led to disaster. Someone who went into the job expecting to make the world a better place being ridiculed and rejected by his former friends. And, most achingly of all, the knowledge knowing you did something bad that hurt so many people, and attempting to come to terms with it.

However, Grandpa Oswald was not without his good days as well. He made a point to visit every Christmas since 1941, always gave me good political advice whenever I needed it, and was the one who FINALLY bought me my first broomstick, a spiffy little Comet 180. *Sigh.* They just don't make brooms like they used to...

Actually, if I remember correctly, it was during my Fifth Year of school over Christmas break when I first admitted to myself that I not only wanted to follow my Father and Grandpa Oswald's footsteps, but outstrip them entirely. My O.W.L's were coming up next year, and my Father had asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I hesitated, swallowed my mashed potatoes, and gave the half-honest answer.

"Well, Dad, I guess what I really want to do is work for The Ministry. Like you."

I only left out the part about exactly how far my ambitions went, that's all. Don't want to play all my cards too soon.

Grandpa Oswald gave me a funny look.

"What?" I protested.

"Well," Grandpa Oswald said with the tiniest hint of his German upbringing influencing his inflections and a sly smirk on his face, "I'd have thought given the good looks from our side of the family, and your Mother's crazy side you'd be a failed actor like Robert, ja?"

Everybody laughs at this, but nobody harder than my Grandpa Robert. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he chokes out; "Or maybe given the crazy smarts from our side of the family, you should combine playacting with politics and become a failed politician like Oswald!"

With this all the laughter suddenly stops. Grandpa Robert's smile slides swiftly off his face. Even he knows he's gone too far.

"Oswald...I...I...I don't know what I was thinking...So stupid...Went too far that ti-I'm so sorry…"

My Mother and Father exchange concerned, even fearful expressions. I remember desperately wishing Grindelwald would show up and declare that Fudge Family had wronged him in some way so he was either going to execute us on the spot or toss us in Nurmengard. At least that way we could move past this very awkward moment and flee for our lives.

Grandpa Oswald is shocked at first, even hurt, but upon seeing Grandpa Robert's genuinely apologetic face reaches over the turkey and pats him on the shoulder.

"It's okay, you crazy bastard. I've heard worse. And you're not entirely wrong, either..."

With that there are a few transitional chuckles and the topic thankfully moves on to their memories on taking the O.W.L's themselves, and I feel a great rush of affection towards Grandpa Oswald for being so graceful despite having his feelings being hurt.

From that day on, with every proceeding visit, my Father and Grandpa Oswald got along better than they ever had before, which wasn't much but still a welcome change. They even hugged every so often, even if it was uncomfortable for the both of them.

To this day, I am still proud to carry Grandpa Oswald's legacy in my name. Even more proud that Oswald Fudge lived just long enough to see his only grandson be elected as Minister of Magic and to be presented with a long-overdue plaque thanking him for his years of service.

Funnily enough, with his former assistant, Waldo by his side.


	3. Chapter 2: You're A Wizard, Cornelius

**You're A Wizard, Cornelius**

Many of my readers might be shocked to learn this, but the first five years of my magical education were not spent at Hogwarts like most of my fellow Witches and Wizards in The United Kingdom have, but The Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry instead. Some of my nastier opponents and muckrakers have claimed that this fact is indicative of an alleged lack of British pride, when the truth is anything but. At the end of the day, I love my country, even if they don't always feel the same fondness for me.

As Minister of Magic, you have to serve as the representative of your entire government, and that entails International Magical Cooperation. This includes meeting with all the individual members of The International Confederation of Wizards to resolve disputes between one another's country (while I remain on good terms with Representative Wiseau I still maintain that "Spoon Incident" was entirely his own fault) or attending The Quidditch World Cup (alternatively pretending to be happy or upset for your fellow Ministers depending on how the game goes). And that's only the overseas responsibilities that came with my position, the homeland issues were a nightmare!

Thank goodness I tended to delegate authority well as Minister, otherwise I would have crashed and burned rather quickly. As a matter of fact, that's my best advice to anyone aspiring to take on the responsibility of Minister. That, and it is important to listen to your people when they're telling you repeatedly to perhaps look into the possibility that a certain snake-faced supervillain is back, but that's a lesson for later.

Anyway, back to my schooling. There were two reasons why I attended Ilvermorny rather than Hogwarts at first. Firstly, my Father felt the way the school was being run was unsatisfactory. I don't remember all of the specifics, but it had something to do with Professor Dippet's tendency to "spare the rod, spoil the child," whatever that means. Secondly, The Dark Lord was on the move, and according to the June, 1936 edition of The Daily Prophet, was last sighted near Dufftown, Moray.

It must seem impossible for my younger audience to fathom, but before Voldemort's time there was another Dark Wizard who terrified us all, and his name was Gellert Grindelwald. Historians have debated for years which between the two is worse, but no matter what your opinion is on the matter, no one can deny that Grindelwald is one of the most terrifying figures in Wizarding history, and that's saying something. His eccentric appearance with the bizarre hairdo, sunken-in heterochromic eyes and mustache did a pretty fantastic job of hiding the power-mad sadist within him.

Being privy to certain documents that most Magical residents are not allowed access to, I've seen the "evil plans" he drafted for later use and am thankful that every day he was defeated and swiftly imprisoned before he got the chance to put them into practice. There are literally rooms and rooms of notebooks he filled with his sick parody of world peace. The man actually recruited famous architects in order to build the infamous Nurmengard and took the time to write down every single miniscule detail of how his empire would function from the minor bureaucratic technicalities to elaborating on how mass upheaval of conventional Wizarding law would result from his supposed "benevolent dictatorship."

There happens to be a book on my very shelf that details Grindelwald's life story as written by the incomparable Eldred Worple that I sadly cannot claim to have read more than once. It is entitled _My FIght For The Greater Good_. While I am more than familiar with his superb work (thanks to a certain mutual friend) and typically enjoy his enthusiastic "life stories," the interviews Worple held with Grindelwald were downright unsettling.

Similar to my crippling fear of Lethifolds thanks to a certain illustration thanks to "Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them," the book also contains sketches and little notes Grindelwald drew in his diary as a child and teenager. Some are normal such as techniques for spells or potion recipes, various re-drawings of The Deathly Hallows symbol, and one curiosity entitled "G + A = 3" indicating a childhood crush. Others are detailed sketches of dissected animals, himself performing sexual actions with various people, scrawled messages of abuse (possibly directed at himself?), and screaming faces with hands enclosed around the throat. Not a badly told story by any means, but I am not a fan.

For my money, the essential difference between Grindelwald and Voldemort is how they crafted their image. Voldemort mainly operated whilst hidden under the shadows, preferring stealth and intimidation to outright declarations of war. Grindelwald, however, smiled giddily and quoted religious verses as he murdered anyone who stood in his way. And as self-important and methodical as Voldemort was in life, it is unlikely he would have had posters passed out on the street that bragged "Grindelwald Productions ™ Proudly Presents: For The Greater Good: World Tour. Coming Soon To _(Fill In Location Here)!"

While Grindelwald kept his reign of terror confined to Eastern Europe for the most part, he occasionally arranged razes on strategic locations around the world in order to remind everyone that he was still there. One such raze took place in Hogsmeade, resulting in the deaths of nineteen shopkeepers. That was enough to set my Father off, refusing to send me to Hogwarts citing numerous other nasty incidents that were occurring thanks to The World Tour and instead writing to Ilvermorny and asking if they would accept me instead.

In despite of Grindelwald's coup taking over the news and keeping The British Ministry on their toes, my childhood was pretty normal otherwise. The summer before I was shipped off to Ilvermorny was full of excitement as I received my acceptance letter and we were off to Diagon Alley for my wand. I am rather proud of it if I do say so myself. Fourteen Inches, Horned Serpent Core, Oak, Curved at the Handle. Took me thirty-seven tries at Mr. Ollivanders, but you can't rush art, that's what I say.

On September 1st, 1936, my Grandparents, Mother, and Father are all gathered together, giving me last-minute reminders, kisses, hugs from my Mother's side, and respectable handshakes from my Father's side of the family. Right before I boarded for The Knight Boat, Grandpa Robert stopped to hug and kiss me for what he promised was the last time that day (it was not) and slipped me a package.

"It's an early birthday present. Trust me, the girls will all go crazy for you!" he whispered. And with a groan of embarrassment combined with a roll of the eyes and bemused shake of my head that echoed my Mother's almost perfectly I give him a little bow, he gave me one in return, and I boarded my one-way trip for Ilvermorny, my family waving at me until they were all tiny little specks.

I wish I could say the five following years were more interesting, but other than a few exam-related mishaps I had a pretty typical school experience. Here is all the information that I feel is noteworthy: I had the opportunity of being approached by both The Thunderbird and Horned Serpent Houses, and although it was a toss-up I decided to follow my wand and chose Horned Serpent. I wasn't exactly popular but was fairly well-liked by my peers thanks to my status as a well-dressed exchange student from Britain, and had my first foray into politics as I was narrowly elected class president.

I wish there was more to tell you, but really I look at my Ilvermorny Years with the deepest of fondness and there is little I would change. At least be grateful I'm not droning on and on about my school like a certain American President I could name in MY biography *Cough Cough Rhymes With Splinton.* We get it, Bill, you went to college. Big whoop. Does that fact really justify 1008 pages? Frankly, who really sits down and reads books that are more than 800 pages, anyway? Ah, I might be getting off track.

However, it all ended in 1941 with Grindelwald's World Tour ending in America with a literal bang as Ilvermorny was razed by his followers during our O.W.L's. To this day I personally blame my "Acceptable" Transfiguration grade on him, couldn't he at least have waited until after our examinations were all done before having a Giant use the school statue as a toothpick? Truly, he was history's greatest monster.

Few casualties this time around thanks to the Aurors, but with Ilvermorny in disrepair we were sent off to other Wizarding Schools in the hope that our fair Ilvermorny would be as good as new real soon. I was told that Hogwarts was more than happy to take me back, much to my Father's chagrin and my Mother's delight.

So, with my Grandpa's early 11th birthday present on my head (was hoping for a cake, honestly), I entered Platform 9 & ¾ for the first time of my life and rode on The Hogwarts Express to my new future. It was there that I met my star.


	4. Chapter 3: The Sorting Hat

**The Sorting Hat**

My Sixth Year of schooling was the year where my entire life changed. The year I decided for once and for all that I would stop at nothing to become Minister of Magic. It all began when I entered The Hogwarts Express apprehensively with some of my fellow Ilvermorny peers. Truth be told, while I had won the position of class president, it more had to do with the lack of enthusiasm my peers displayed than actual merit on my part, so I was eager to make a strong impression from the ground up.

I was wearing a suit my Father had picked out for me in order to "look smart" and Grandpa Robert's gift to me, a lovely black & grey fedora that he claimed would attract women to me like bees to honey. It hadn't worked for the past five years so far, but I really didn't have the heart to tell him that. Women tended to view me in my awkward teenage years as clumsy and slow on the uptake, and I heavily suspect men felt the same way as well considering my alleged weaknesses as a potential romantic interest went on to shadow my political image among voters across the board.

The first sense I got that Hogwarts was going to be quite different from Ilvermorny was the first person I engaged in conversation with. Hankering for some Cauldron Cakes, I made my way across the compartments and came across what I presumed was a Second-Year whose back was turned to me. I cleared my throat and said;

"Uh, excuse me, son, do you know where the trolley is?"

At this the Second-Year turned around revealing a short girl with bug eyes and short reddish-blonde hair in curls, a bemused expression on her face.

"Son? I'm afraid you're mistaken, my good man. I'm not a boy, although there's nothing wrong with that, of course. Or, for that matter, boys who like boys or want to be girls or vice versa, ay?"

The girl whose name I would later learn to be Zackary spoke with a peculiar mixture of a Canadian accent with touches of Irish and Scottish flavours mixed in. Whatever the accent, she also put out a distinct aura of fascination mixed in with an undercurrent of fretfulness.

"Uh…Sorry about that." I responded, unsure of how to react to my newest blunder or my fellow student.

"It's no problem, my good man. Additionally, I'm not sure what you're talking aboot in regards to this trolley. Is it a bus of some kind?"

"No, it's this kind of cart that sells candy," I responded.

Zackary dramatically slapped her head and rolled her eyes inwardly.

"My goodness, how silly of me! Not really a fan of British food in general, mind, but your candy does sound pretty tasty. I think I might have seen something like that a few cars down. You'll have to forgive me of course, just excited about taking this all in. I've heard so much about Hogwarts…"

There was now a shiny, dreamy expression on her eyes.

"I hope I get in Hufflepuff House, what about you?" She asked earnestly.

"Well," I deliberated, surprised at having met someone who desired Hufflepuff above all the other Houses, "Most of my family was in Ravenclaw and Slytherins usually advance to a career easily, so-"

"Oh no, you don't want to be in Slytherin!" Zackary interjected, earnestly shaking her head. "I heard they're really stupid and racist, which goes hand in hand really."

Uncomfortable at the direction this conversation was taking me, I began to spin my fedora in my hands, a common nervous habit of mine whenever I tend to get in an awkward situation. This was followed up by another nervous habit of mine, talking my way out of said awkward situation without attempting to instigate further conflict. "Not sure they're racist as much as perhaps a little overly proud of their Pure-Blood status...But surely there is nothing wrong with being proud of one's family history?"

"Yes, I suppose, but the way THEY do it comes across as so mean." Zackary declared, turning her head curiously as she said so, as if scoping me out. "They should really kick out all the Slytherins so the Muggle-Borns are able to go to school in peace, don't you think so?"

The first real political discussion I ever was a part of was not going particularly well for me so I deflected by giving a non-committal "Sure, whatever you say," pretended I had seen an old friend from school, thanked her for her assistance and rushed away red in the face and utterly perplexed what to make of her, while Zackary waved merrily to my back of me.

The rest of the journey was relatively normal compared to that, with the Gamekeeper herding the first years over to the boats and the older students to the horseless carriages. And, like everyone who has ever actually seen it, Hogwarts does indeed live up to its own hype. Gorgeous architecture, a warm glow, an overwhelming sensation of magical happenings from within, it was there then and it still stands to this day.

All of us Ilvermorny kids were greeted at the staircase when I saw the fateful figure of Albus Dumbledore, who wore reddish-brown robes, wore spectacles, and had a long, greying beard that went down his chest. Not quite so long or so white as it would be in later years, with far less signs to boot.

"Greetings all, my name is Professor Dumbledore, Deputy Headmaster, Head of Gryffindor House, and Transfiguration Teacher. It must be hard for all of you, to have to abandon your homes because they are not safe anymore. It takes a great deal of courage to withstand such tragedy so early in life, and I salute you all. Please consider Hogwarts your home now, and if you have any issues my office is always open."

The energy between me and my classmates was nervous before, but at Dumbledore's kind words they all seemed to be far more at ease, myself included. Dumbledore gave a reassuring smile

"All of the Houses are eager to accept you all into their respective Common Rooms, and as such you will be considered honorary members of that House until such time as Ilvermorny is repaired. Professor Dippet feels that Sorting the older students along with The First Years would be illogical since it might prove-ah-embarrassing to those who view one's childishness with disdain, so if you wish to be sorted in secret please follow me to Professor Dippet's office. First years, stay here and Professor Merrythought will take over from here. Second-Years through Seventh-Years, come with me."

A genial-looking Witch gave a big wave to the First-Years as Dumbledore led us all to Professor Dippet's office, where an old, worn-out hat and polished bench had been placed.

Just as I was beginning to wonder if this was some joke being pulled on us, the brim of the hat opened and it recited;

" _There Were Once Four Siblings, Family In All But Blood, Who Many Times Came Together To Protect Their Home From Becoming Scattered Bricks In The Mud._

 _The First Sibling Was Godric Gryffindor, Who Favored Heroes & The Brave At Heart._

 _The Second Sibling Was Rowena Ravenclaw, Who Favored Scholars With A Flair For The Higher Arts._

 _The Third Sibling Was Helga Hufflepuff, Who Favored All With Compassion & A Smile._

 _And The Fourth and Final Sibling Was Salazar Slytherin, Who Favored Those With Noble Birth & Guile. _

_One Day, A Darkness Came That Threatened Their Entire School, An Unstoppable Force By The Name of Count Pesabledica, Conqueror of Seoul._

 _He Commanded That Control of Britain Be Handed Over To Him, Claiming That It Was Prophesied That He Would Win._

 _In Response,_

 _The Cunning Slytherin Unsheathed His Endless Daggers,_

 _The Loyal Hufflepuff Unlimbered Her Powerful Spear,_

 _The Just Ravenclaw Cocked Her Mighty Bow,_

 _And The Fearless Gryffindor Drew His Indestructible Sword._

 _And, Hoisting Up Their Weapons Pulled From Straps of Leather, They Proclaimed In Unison;_

" _NEVER!"_

 _A Battle Of Deep Toil And Sacrifice Was Fought, And The Seemingly Unbeatable Count Pesabledica Was Caught._

 _However, Ugly Truths Were Revealed, Suppressed Hurt And Hatred No Longer Concealed. As One Left To Serve His Own Purposes Of Selfishness And Defiance, This Was The End of Their Alliance._

 _The Betrayal Was Shared Between Them All, With One Hero Gone, Others Had To Answer The Call. Good Times Eventually Came, But With The Four Founders' Friendship Broken Nothing Was The Same._

 _What Is The Purpose of This Tale, You May Ask? Well, To Insure That What Happened Then Will Never Happen Again, That Is My Task."_

And The Hat became still again. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I almost didn't hear " _Fudge, Cornelius!_ " Being Called.

Replacing my Fedora to spin it around in my hand nervously, I placed on The Sorting Hat and heard it whisper in my ear.

" _Hmmmmm. Right, here, right. Fair deal of loyalty, if not especially prevalent...Some bravery, although not at the forefront...VERY intelligent, as one would expect from A Horned Serpent with generations of Ravenclaws behind him, although smarts are not everything._

 _HOWEVER...I sense that at the very center of your being...you wish to impress the right people...to charm your way to the top...use your cunning to take the world by storm...be the very best you can be to cement your legacy._

 _With all of that in mind, the most obvious choice is…_

"SLYTHERIN!"


End file.
